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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758456">Waste</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan'>Janekfan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Fear, M/M, MAG181, Memory Loss, Sleep, Worry, damn it jonny, damned if you do damned if you don't, dizzy - Freeform, spoilers for mag181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:30:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin recovers, Jon wanes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>250</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Waste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*incoherent wailing*</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pausing the stroke of his thumb back and forth over Jon’s forehead, Martin turned a page and fell into another poem, resuming his gentle ministrations when the man wedged up against his thigh fidgeted in his restless sleep. Another nap. He’d had two already today and seemed more exhausted each time he woke, bleary and disoriented and needing more and more time to remember that they were somehow safe in Upton House while in the middle of an apocalypse. Martin felt stronger every day, the joy of feeling <i>human</i> again even though he knew it couldn’t last a blessing despite aching feet and hunger pangs. But to know those things again was a privilege he’d forgotten. </p>
<p>But, Jon.</p>
<p>Martin closed his book, devoting his full attention to him now and cataloging his features as had become habit. He was fading away really, if Martin thought about it. And he didn’t want to think about it. Every time his eyes opened there was less of him behind their surface and even though he always, always remembered Martin, he feared with his whole heart that one day he might not.</p>
<p>Because of course this haven was only safe for one of them.</p>
<p>“Jon-love?” Martin touched his face, bent to kiss his temple, and met emptiness when he pulled away. <i>Give him a moment</i>. Something only Jon could hear drew his attention, and the vacant, hollow way he cocked his head to listen made Martin’s stomach twist into knots. “Jon?” He blinked heavily, looking up at him with a sheepish half grin that did nothing to hide the wooziness. </p>
<p>“Oh, sorry. Wh’what were you saying?” Breathy, tired. He’d fall asleep again if Martin let him. </p>
<p>“Would you eat something for me?” Jon pushed himself up, hiding his face in Martin’s shoulder for a moment and letting him fasten an elastic around the majority of his messy hair. “There, perfect.” He could feel the slow smile being embossed into his skin. “What’re you feeling like today?” </p>
<p>“Mmyou pick…”</p>
<p>Because Jon didn’t really need food or Martin. He needed the Beholding. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frustration clung to him like the webs in the corners clung to their beams and Jon rubbed his arms vigorously to dispel the itchy, uncomfortable feeling of slowly forgetting who he was and how he came to be here. It was wholly unfair that Jon’s suffering was like slipping into a cottony fog and Martin’s was the desolate waste of a world he’d ended. </p>
<p>And seconds later these thoughts vanished as though they’d never been and Jon sat up in a bed far too big for one. But he was one. There was only <i>one</i> and that was wrong, not least of all due to the fact that he wasn’t sure quite where he was and didn’t remember falling asleep here. </p>
<p>Think. </p>
<p>Even though it was hard, like pulling a particularly strong weed, and Jon went dizzy with it. </p>
<p>Martin. Martin wasn’t there and Jon didn’t remember how he got here in this unfamiliar bed. He didn’t remember changing into these clothes or even where his shoes were and to not know after Knowing everything was terrifying. Had he left? Realized finally how burdensome Jon really was? Especially now when he couldn’t even tell you where he began and the monster wearing him like an ill-fitting skin started? The soles of his bare feet froze when they touched the floor and it was sharp enough that he could hold on to the idea of finding Martin, afraid if he let go of it he’d fall back into the duvet and sleep forever. </p>
<p>“Martin?” Standing made the room spin, dizziness forcing Jon to close his eyes lest he fall over, and as soon as he thought he could run without tripping, he took off stealthily through the house. Each room was empty, ornate, and cold for what they were lacking, and Jon pushed himself forward, forward, forward. Scared and alone and why was he alone? Why couldn’t he remember? His chest was tight with panic. Martin left. Martin left and he <i>needed</i> Martin because without him he was left drowning at sea. </p>
<p>Finally, the library, warmly lit and smelling of old books and Martin was there, leafing through some manuscript or another and Jon staggered with relief, stumbling towards him with tears in his eyes and on his face.</p>
<p>“Martin!” </p>
<p>“Jon?” He turned, caught him up as he fell into him, sick with fear and addled because he didn’t know why he was so afraid. “Jon, what’s wrong? Here, here, come sit with me, you’re half frozen.” Practically in his lap, Jon clung to him. </p>
<p>“I, you. You’d gone. I, I.” The words wouldn’t come, slipping through his fingers like sand and he doesn’t <i>remember</i>.</p>
<p>“Okay, alright, it’s alright. You found me, yeah?” Jon’s breathing calmed, the pounding thud of his heart ceasing its frantic tattoo and he felt selfish, unbelievably so, but he couldn’t remember why. </p>
<p>Later, when Jon stands taller and Martin bends under the weight of the sky’s watching only to hold it anyway, he feels that same selfishness because he knows he’s made a mistake. </p>
<p>And he can’t remember what they left behind.</p>
<p>He’s being selfish again. </p>
<p>And he can’t remember why.</p>
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